prophesy
by fiesa
Summary: Ben Skywalker does not become the next Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Drabble.


**prophecy**

 _Summary: Ben Skywalker does not become the next Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Drabble._

 _Warning: Angst, darkness, massive character death._

 _Set: AU, dystopic._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

 _A/N: Might or might not become a series of drabbles I tentatively dubbed Shattered Destinies. As you can see from the title, this is not going to be pretty._

* * *

The funeral is short.

There is no body to bury, anyway, not even a body to burn. Just the flickering crystals and the heavy scent of flowers. No weeping family members, some mourners. A few fellow Jedi, both teachers and students. The halls of the Jedi Academy are eerily silent.

The Sword recites the farewells.

Then the few guests scatter, each one returning to his own duties. Life continues. There is a galaxy full of chances out there, a galaxy full of pain. Where there is light, there is shadow. What, she wonders, would have happened if you hadn't died?

 _you are all leaving me behind_

Anakin Solo died fighting the Voxyn queen to save the universe. Jacen Solo and Mara Jade-Skywalker were killed by Darth Caedus. Leia Organa-Solo was killed defending a group of younglings from the Dark Force entity Abeloth. Luke Skywalker died on the lake of memories on Abeloth's planet, fighting a Lord of the Sith.

She can continue the list endlessly.

Names, names, so many names. Corran Horn. Kyp Durron. Kyle Katarn. Kenth Hamner. Saba Sebatyne. Cilghal. Tionne and Kam Solusar. But not only Masters died. Jedi, too, Knights. And younglings. Darkness rose and swallowed them all, and their last hope was a man who was the son to the man who had, single-handedly, revived the Jedi Order. Only fate never is fair. Ben Skywalker died protecting the Jedi, as had his grandparents. And his parents, and his aunt and uncle and cousins. He was their last hope, their only hope, the one who would protect the future of the Jedi Order. And now he's dead, as well, and the last remnants of what once were a proud and great order are falling apart. There is nothing left, _nothing,_ neither his kind words nor his kind smile nor his sure hand.

Everyone she loved died, and she can't understand why she is still left.

 _I hate to see you like that_

Oh, Jag, she thinks, bitter, with the stab of _hateloveloneliness_ she can never completely suppress. If you don't like it, you shouldn't have gone.

 _everybody has left me_

"Master Solo?"

Mika Solusar is barely fifteen and already carries the title of Jedi Knight. In war times, children grow up fast. She knows this, has been a child of war herself. It doesn't make it any easier, watching the new generation growing up prematurely. Maybe this was what made Uncle Luke look so tired, on days, and what sometimes twisted Ben's beautiful smile just _so._ Maybe this is what finally will kill her, one day _(because, obviously, all her own attempts to rid the universe of herself have failed spectacularly no matter what she attempted),_ maybe in the far future and maybe very soon: teaching all these children to go out there to protect and save the universe, giving them the tools and the ability to help others. Naming them Jedi and sending them out there. She's not sure how long she will be able to stand it: being _proud_ of them, _believing_ in them – and, thereby, sentencing them to death.

 _nothing i loves lasts_

"Yes, Knight Solusar?"

"You haven't eaten anything today."

Mika carries a plate with cold nerf steak and green vegetables and, apparently, her mother's caring character. But she can't. _I'm not hungry_ is the first thing that comes to her mind, but then she looks at the child in front of her and swallows the words. The kid is bright, with Tionne's dark eyes and Kam's chin and posture, and she stands tall despite the fact that her entire family is dead. The sight strikes a chord deep within her. _I don't want them to be Jedi, Leia. –Do you think I do? But look at them. Jaina's toys float more often than not, and Jacen practically talks to any animal he comes across. Can you deny them something that already is a part of them?_

Jag's eyes, dark, darker, always were windows to his heart. She never was sure what to read from his face, from the stoic, almost icy expression of his, but his eyes gave him away every. single. time. _I don't want them to be like you, Jay._ And she can see he loves her, always did, always will. Just like she will always, always, only love him. But this time they have hit the breaking point.

 _oh the things we do to our children_

There were two once, a beautiful boy, a precious girl, she can still feel their hearts beat, can see their light. There were two once, and now there's nobody left.

"Thank you, Mika."

The girl smiles, shyly, lights up the room with a flash of brightness before everything sinks back into the darkness of a late winter night. Taking the plate, she touches the girl's shoulder, briefly.

"You should get some sleep."

Then she is alone again, the plate untouched before her. She forces herself to take a few bites, but the food tastes like nothing. The stack of flimsiplast documents on her table hasn't decreased enough to call it a day yet. As it is, she wouldn't be able to sleep, either.

 _You can't keep doing this, Jay._

There is a request from the Chief of the Galactic Alliance of Planets, and another report on the fugitive treks from the Outer Rim planets. Coruscant is facing a civil war, once again. Corellia has debts high enough to drown three other planets in, as well. The nationalistic factions in the planetary governments of several star systems are gaining support continuously, and there are elections on three other planets. There are only a handful of Jedi left from what once was a proud order, twenty or so left of what became known as the Massacre of Coruscant. Nobody had expected orbital bombing. Maybe the Grand Master would have, but he was dead when the bombs hit.

 _i should have died with you that day_

No use in grieving. No time to, either. There is work waiting, never-ending, all-consuming work. She has to keep functioning, has to continue forward for the sake of those who remain, and those who already left. She falls into bed at night so tired she cannot even remember her head hitting the pillow. Her last thought is the same, nevertheless, every night, every time. She will die with their faces in her mind: Anakin, Jacen, Mom, Dad. Ben. Mara, Uncle Luke.

Jag, and her beautiful, precious children.

 _far, far away_

 _not mine, not ever_

 _and it's better this way_

Jaina Solo never wanted to be the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.


End file.
